


Hauntings, Past & Present

by Telaryn



Category: Leverage
Genre: Angst, Awkward Conversations, Exorcisms, F/M, Ghost Hunters, Ghosts, Haunting, Past Relationship(s), Possession, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 19:50:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9340604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: Maggie calls, asking Eliot for a somewhat unique favor.  Eliot responds, but in the process long-buried feelings each of them share are dragged into the light.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YanzaDracan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YanzaDracan/gifts).



> Did not expect this to be the long one of the batch! Hope you enjoy it, Yanza - and thank you for joining us again this year!

_”You are out of your goddamn mind.”_

_“London has hunters, don’t they? Give it to one of them.”_

_“I’ll just call Maggie myself. Tell her she has to take all of us for this.”_

_“You know Sterling’s just going to tase you and drop you in a hole somewhere.”_

Twelve hours’ worth of trans-Atlantic flight, and Hardison and Parker’s voices were louder than ever in Eliot’s skull as he stepped off the plane at Heathrow Airport in London. _Should tell you something,_ he thought as he stepped into line at customs and got out his passport. _If it had been anybody but Maggie calling…_

Eliot was self-aware enough to realize that he was getting too old to take on any kind of supernatural job without seriously considering the potential pitfalls. And if there were any indications this was some kind of monster, he probably would have handed it off to a contact in England – Maggie’s involvement be damned.

A ghost though? Surely he wasn’t past the point in his life where he could investigate and contain a haunting?

None of which meant he was prepared to drag Parker and Hardison along. Through no fault of anyone’s, the team had been forced into the occasional supernaturally connected job, but it wasn’t something any of them willingly sought out.

Customs went smoothly, thanks to Hardison’s impeccable prep work. As Eliot cleared the secure area, his phone vibrated for his attention. “That’ll be Maggie, warning you that I insisted on coming to pick you up myself,” said a familiar, deeply hated voice.

Pivoting to bring the enemy into view, Eliot also took a large step back – giving himself room to assess the situation. James Sterling was standing in the middle of the streaming crowd of people, looking as calm and unruffled as he ever did.

“Hello, Spencer.”  
******************************  
After the fourth time trying to read the same paragraph, Maggie finally gave it up as a bad job and put the kettle on. She’d known James wasn’t going to be happy about her calling Eliot in on the mysterious goings on surrounding the new gallery show, but she’d forgotten just how much like her ex-husband he could be when he got his teeth in something.

Finally she’d given up the fight over which of them was going to pick Eliot up at the airport with a single threat: _“Either of you shows up here with a bruise, you’ll be sleeping at a hotel the entire time he’s here.”_

“Laying out ground rules,” she growled, staring out her office window at the gray, over-cast afternoon. “Like we’re a group of children.” It was going to be hard enough getting Eliot in and out of the museum without raising questions – the incidents of vandalism and ‘strange occurrences’ were already frequent enough that the director was starting to talk about increasing security.

The problem was, they wouldn’t find anything. Not anything they could arrest or file charges against. Maggie hadn’t been a woman given to flights of fancy for a long time, but she was as sure about what was really going on as she had ever been about anything.

The shrill whistle of the tea kettle cut across her mental musings, making her flinch. Pressing a hand to her chest, Maggie forced herself to walk to the burner and go through the motions of setting a cup of Earl Grey tea to steep. _He can help,_ she thought, watching the blackness spiral up through the steaming water. _He has to._

“Maggie?” A soft, familiar voice, accompanied by a gentle knock on the open door, drew her attention. Turning, she felt herself break into a smile at the sight of Eliot standing in the doorway. “Who you gonna call?”

It was the stupid, obvious joke, but Maggie still felt like a crippling weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Rushing forward, she let herself be enveloped in a tight, comforting hug. Eliot held onto her for a long moment, then gently set her back at arm’s length and studied her expression. “Wow. How long have you been looking for a rational explanation for what’s been happening?”

“Too long,” Maggie admitted. “I hope James wasn’t horrible?” Concerned, she glanced past Eliot. “You didn’t…um...?”

The hitter huffed out a soft breath that could have been a laugh. “No, I didn’t. And I appreciate your attempt to warn me, even if it was a little late.” Picking up the satchel he’d dropped when she hugged him, Eliot set it and the bag slung across his back on one of her less cluttered tables. “Is that tea I smell?”

Gesturing him to a chair, Maggie went through the motions of pouring out a second cup. “Sterling figured he would be too much of a distraction for me if he stuck around.” Nodding his thanks, Eliot accepted the tea and waited for her to take her own seat opposite him before continuing. “Can’t say he’s wrong, even if the whole dick-waving, territory-staking show was a little much for my taste.”

Maggie felt a pang of disloyalty at the grin Eliot’s coarse assessment of James’ motivation surprised from her, but she quickly dismissed it. The two of them had always connected on a different level than the people they surrounded themselves with. It had definitely bothered Nate – and she suspected that even though he would never say it outright, it bothered James as well. “So, what do you need from me?”

Settling back in his chair, Eliot took a sip of tea – his expression growing thoughtful. “Mostly what we’re going to need is space and privacy – I’m assuming you’ve already got that part worked out?” He raised an eyebrow at her, and Maggie nodded. Preparations for opening the show meant that nobody was going to question her keeping odd hours, and she’d already started laying the ground work with security for Eliot to be around.

“I used your Adam Sinclair alias,” she told him. “I assume Hardison’s kept it active?”

Pulling out his ubiquitous smart phone, Eliot fired off a text. “Better safe than sorry,” he said, looking up again. “Anyway, assuming you’ve got my access covered, I just need to see where the incidents you described are focused. I’ve got some meters to set up and some tests to run – once we can zero in on what kind of spirit you’re dealing with I can figure out the best way to send it packing.”  
***********************  
The rest of the evening passed quickly and pleasantly. Eliot had Maggie walk him through each of the occurrences she had witnessed, so he could map what she’d told him in three dimensions. He’d run an EMP meter over the affected areas, and by the time Maggie ordered in dinner for them from a local pub, he’d narrowed their targets to three paintings – each by different artists – and a carving of a young woman looking at a flower.

“Statues are historically good receptacles for spirit energy,” he’d told her as they ate back in her office. “What can you tell me about the artist?”

The amount of knowledge Maggie had at her fingertips was admittedly impressive. “Unfortunately he’s a local sort – never made it big. ‘Eleanor’ was recently donated to the museum by Rumlow’s estate. It’s considered to be one of his best pieces, but by today’s standards it puts him in the squarely average category.”

“Means there’s not a lot about him on the net?” Eliot asked. When Maggie nodded, he considered the facts she had been able to give him – lined them up against what supernatural knowledge he had, and decided that they fit well enough. “Is there any particular time of day you’ve noticed the weird stuff going on?”

Maggie shook her head, but Eliot realized she was starting to look even more ill at ease. “Hey,” he said gently, reaching across to take her hand. When she was able to look at him he said, “You know I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you, right?”

He could see her start to laugh off his statement, but whatever she’d been about to say died in her throat. “Thank you,” she said instead, squeezing his hand.

Once they’d cleared dinner away he told her, “I’ve got nothing but my gut to go on, but I think we’re definitely going to focus on the statue tonight.” Unzipping his bag, he pulled out a large swath of black cloth. “Grab some scissors. I’m hoping this will be enough to cover the paintings, otherwise we’re going to have to relocate them for the night.”

Maggie did as he asked, but as she brought the scissors back she asked, “Wouldn’t it be easier to isolate the statue? Bring it into a separate room?”

Eliot transferred a dagger, three candles, a container of salt and a box of matches into a smaller bag. “No matter what it may look like from your perspective, none of this is easy. Trust me.” Throwing the bag over his shoulder, he gestured for Maggie to lead the way.

“I don’t want to disturb any of the items if we don’t have to,” he explained as they reached the side gallery. “This goes faster if we can keep from introducing variables to the equation.” Passing her the bundle of cloth, he pointed at the first painting. “Shake it out. We’ll have to eyeball how much to use, but I think there’s enough.”  
****************************************  
Her relief at finally moving in a positive direction was so profound, Maggie felt as though she had completely disassociated from the world around her. She moved where Eliot needed her to, and did what he said, but somewhere along the way it had ceased being real.

 _Why couldn’t we have met without all the baggage?_ It wasn’t the first time she’d asked herself that question when it came to Eliot Spencer. Learning that the charming ‘art expert’ Dr. Adam Sinclair was part of her ex-husband’s crew of misfits was a blow Maggie had spent a genuinely long time recovering from.

They’d finished wrapping the third painting in what had turned out to be a heavy silk, when she realized Eliot was watching her. “You okay, Maggie?” The tone in his voice was careful, his expression cautious.

 _Memory of her dress pushed up to her waist…his hands on her body…the feel of his lips against her skin…coats and evening wraps pressed in around them as they struggled not to be heard by the party-goers._ “What stopped you that night?” she asked, closing the distance that separated them by half in two smooth, graceful steps. “At Ian’s party?”

She couldn’t tell if he’d been expecting the question or not, but hearing the words out loud clearly made him uncomfortable. “Maggie…I…”

“You didn’t know who I was. You were obviously interested.”

“I was on the job,” Eliot said, and even in the dim light she could see the color staining his cheeks. “On comms. Even…even before I knew who you were, it would have been…”

Surging forward, Maggie pressed up full length into the hitter and kissed him. Eliot tensed briefly, but relaxed into her hands as she twined her fingers in his hair and pulled him in even closer. “No comms now,” she breathed as their lips parted.

She felt more than heard him growl low in his throat, then Eliot was lifting her in his arms and kissing her back. _Yes…_ Maggie thought, as he turned and laid her down on what was left of the silk. _Oh God, yes…_

He straddled her body then, urging her arms up over her head. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, resting his forehead briefly against hers. “Maggie, I’m so, so, sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” she asked, feeling him shift so that he had both her wrists pinned in one of his hands. He reached to the right of their bodies, and she heard the bag he’d brought slide against the tile.

When he had whatever he was rummaging for, he pushed up so that he was still effectively pinning her, but she could see the full measure of sorrow and concern in his expression. “For this,” he told her, and then everything seemed to happen at once.

Eliot did something with his right hand, and suddenly the air above them was filled with falling spots of white. _Snow?_ Maggie wondered, but then some of it landed in her mouth and she winced – screwing up her face and turning her head away from the small storm raining down on them.

 _Salt._  
****************************  
Moving as quickly as he could, Eliot pushed to his feet, backed off of a few feet, and completed the ring of salt around Maggie’s body. Shaking, he dropped the container and wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. _Dammit._ Whatever it was that had crawled in and taken possession of Maggie’s body, it was stronger than he’d expected.

“Eliot…”

Forcing himself back on task, Eliot looked down at his prisoner. Maggie had managed to sit up, and even though most of her face was concealed by her pale hair, he could see that she was crying softly. _You could have burned her,_ he realized, crouching down and trying to catch her gaze. He’d risked a lot by taking Maggie’s assessment at face value and assuming he was dealing with a spirit. “I’m not talking to you,” he said, once he had her attention. “I want to talk to Maggie.”

On cue, Maggie said, “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.” Raising her hands, she reached out for him only to be brought up short by a spark of mystical energy created by the salt barrier. “What was that?”

“That,” Eliot told her, “is how you know I’m serious. Maggie. Now.”

A huge shudder rippled across Maggie’s entire body, then she shook her hair back from her face. When she met his gaze, Eliot could tell immediately that something had changed. “Help me, Eliot.”

“On it, darlin’,” he said, nearly crying with relief as his instincts told him he was talking with the real flesh and blood woman this time. “How long has this thing had control?”

He watched her replay the timeline in her head, then she said, “Since we were cleaning up. I think.” She winced again. “My head hurts.”

He nodded. “I’ll bet. You hang on, okay? I’m gonna fix this, but it’s going to get a little weird from here.”

He startled a laugh from her. “You mean weirder, right?”

“Yes,” he conceded. “Weirder.”

The buried-deep part of him that was in flat out panic mode kept suggesting the Rituale Romanum as his best course of action. Even though he hadn’t needed to invoke it in years, Eliot was reasonably certain he still had it in his memory – but he also knew that it was a really big gun to bring to bear in this situation.

 _It’s the vessel, then._ Sifting through all his available knowledge, it was the logical place to start. “Hope you were right about this not being a valuable piece,” he muttered, standing up again. “Hang in there, Maggie. Remember what I promised you.”

“Eliot, don’t!” Maggie had immediately gone to her knees, hands up – pushing ineffectively at the barrier. “You can’t!”

Certain he could tell the difference between them now, Eliot shook his head – sweeping up his bag. “Sorry, sweetheart. Whoever or whatever you are, that body you’re riding doesn’t belong to you.” Lighting one of the candles, he rolled three drops of wax onto the table holding the statue, then set each of the candles in place; creating a protective circle around the piece.

“You want her. She wants you. Can’t we work something out?”

Lighting the other two candles, Eliot took up the dagger and pricked the pad of his left thumb. “We have other people in our lives,” he said, holding his hand so that a single drop of blood fell into each candle flame in turn. “People who would be hurt if we gave into our feelings for each other.” Memory of their one brief flirtation stole into his thoughts again, along with the regret he’d carried that circumstances had kept them from seeing if they could have had anything more.

He pushed it aside. What ifs weren’t something he’d ever indulged himself with, and they certainly weren’t going to help Maggie now. “With fire and blood I contain you.”

“Eliot, please!”

Reaching down, he caught up the salt container. Pouring out a fistful, he raised it over the statue of the woman. “I release you spirit, and purify this vessel with salt and the Holy Spirit.” As Latin words he only half-understood spilled from his lips, smoke began spiraling up from the statue, and Maggie began to sob in earnest.  
*************************************  
When it was over, Eliot returned to where she was confined, and went to his knees. “You okay?”

So tired that she wanted nothing more than to lie down on the cool, polished concrete floor and sleep, Maggie managed to raise her head and meet the hitter’s eyes. “You mean am I alone in here?” she asked, grinning weakly at him.

His expression was so full of emotion, she wanted to cry all over again. “Yeah,” he said softly, reaching across the salt barrier and taking her hand. “Come on. If you can cross the salt, we’ll know you’re clean.”

Leaning heavily on him, Maggie got to her feet, then took two unsteady steps across the messy circle he’d imprisoned her in. Once she was clear, Eliot pulled her into a tight embrace. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he murmured, kissing her hair.

Maggie clung to him for longer than was proper or right, but she didn’t have the energy to do more than marginally care. “You kept your promise. That’s all that matters.”

He wanted her to sit and rest, but Maggie insisted on helping him clean up. She was also able to provide a convincing explanation to the security guard who finally came around to check on them. “Things are going to be a lot quieter around here now,” she told him, sending him on his regular rounds with a friendly clap on the shoulder.

When they were alone again, she realized Eliot was smiling at her. “You are _really_ good with the bullshit.”

She shrugged. “Easy when you’ve spent most of your life hiding what you really feel.” She paused. “Do we need to talk about what happened?”

He studied her for a long moment. “I do wish I’d been braver…that time,” he said finally, the weight of truth in his eyes. “If I’d known how much crap would end up working against us even trying to be together, I like to think I would have at least been able to give us a complete memory to regret.”


End file.
